


The Bereaved and The Relieved

by Corycides



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 00:09:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corycides/pseuds/Corycides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Priscilla Pittman's life didn't stop when Aaron abandoned her, it won;t stop how he's back either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bereaved and The Relieved

 Year 15/Anniversary 10

The solder sparked with heat and melted, liquid silver sealing the bare wires. A gloved finger, leather scarred and burned, smudged it around to make sure it covered everything. Done – or ruined, it was hard to tell working for a segment of a blueprint extrapolated from a photograph of a device.

 

Pris set the soldering iron down and straightened up, groaning as every, damn vertebra creak, cracked or crackled. She braced her hands in the small of her back and stretched, trying to pop the aches free. It didn't work.

 

After years working on steam trains and plumbing – back when theY first moved to Philadelphia, the first stinking summer had made that a priority – she wasn't used to hunching over components any more. She wasn't 21 and bendy any more either, but dwelling on that wasn't going to cheer her up any.

 

Unpinning her hair, dark curls dropping to her shoulders, she tidied her workstation up, checked that everything was ready tomorrow and handed the blueprint to the guard to burnt. The boy, aching young in his recruit grey, folded the paper and fed it solemnly into the lantern.

 

'Mrs Neville is waiting for you,' he said, wiping ash on his trousers. 'Outside.'

 

Marvellous. It wasn't that Pris didn't like Julia. The other woman had always been very kind, pointedly so sometimes and genuinely others. It was just hard to try and keep up with her at the best of times. You had to try and trace what looked like idle gossip in both directions to work out what she was coming from or at. It was even harder when your spine felt like someone had kicked it.

 

Only thing harder would be making an enemy of her, so Pris tugged off her gloves and plastered a smile on her face and went outside. It wasn't just Julia, she had Tommy with her and was listening intently as he told her gravely about something. It could be anything. He was a grave little boy.

 

It made his slow, beaming smile when he saw Pris all the more precious. 'Mommy,' he said, throwing his arms around her waist. 'I wanna be a soldier.'

 

Pris felt the smile curdle on her face and ducked her chin, hiding behind her hair. She wanted to shake Tommy and yell at him that he wasn't going to be a soldier, he was going to be artist or a wood-carver or an architect. Instead she made her hands steady as she stroked his shock of dark hair back from his face.

 

'You do?' she asked, voice lilting. 'Why's that then.'

 

He drew himself up, looking very pugnacious. 'The terrorists killed Niamh's daddy when they attacked General Monroe's research base. When I'm a soldier, I won't let them hurt anyone else.'

 

'That's very brave,' she said, cupping his chin. 'I'm sure you'd be a very good soldier, but not just yet.'

 

He nodded and grabbed her hand, sneaking a sly look at Julia. 'Come on, mommy. There's something I want to show you?'

 

Tommy tugged her into motion, then wriggled free to go skipping along the corridor a head of them. Pris glanced at Julia and raised her eyebrows questioningly. The blonde just gave a catlike smile and mimed locking her lips, hooking her arm through Pris'.

 

'So how's the mystery project going?' Julia asked, arching her eyebrows.

 

'Confidentially,' Pris said, with a smile to take the sting out of it. 'I'm not even allowed to talk about it at home.'

 

That earned a sidelong look, but Julia just smiled and patted her hand. 'Of course,' she said. 'I didn't mean to pry.'

 

Pris couldn't resist giving her wry look and Julia chuckled, dipping her head in mute acknowledgement. The smile faded quickly from her face and nodded towards Tommy, jittering impatiently in front of a door.

 

'He'll be fine,' she said. 'By the time he's grown, maybe we won't need soldiers anymore.'

 

'They grow so fast,' Pris said, voice cracking.

 

Pain pressed Julia's lips together, two lines pinching between her eyebrows. 'I know.'

 

Pris looked away and pretended not to have noticed the crack in Julia's political mask. It would do neither of them any favours to acknowledge it. The Nevilles had been on shaky ground even before Jason had defected, they couldn't afford to be seen worrying for him.

 

They reached the door and Julia freed her arm, stepping back and holding out her hand for Tommy. Pris braced herself and pushed the doors open, straight into her, 'SURPRISE!'.

 

**Year 5/Anniversary 0**

 

Five years ago 19 Honeysuckle Lane had been a well-tended suburban house and Mrs Thomas a well-tended suburban wife. Now it was a boarding house for 'single women' – the split was 45 percent farm hands and 55 percent hookers – and Mrs Thomas spent her days in the garden, giant straw hat tied down with a length of ribbon, tending rows of heroin poppies. Priscilla nodded politely to the bony woman as she let herself through the gate.

 

'Evening, Mrs Thomas,' she said. 'Any news?'

 

Usually she just got a raised eyebrow and a snort. Today Mrs Thomas beckoned her over. She was scoring the poppy heads with a sickle-bladed paring knife, her mumsy flowered garden gloves an odd accent to the task.

 

'That Aaron of yours,' she said. 'He's dead.'

 

Priscilla wobbled and waited for...it. The wave of grief, the tears, the devastation. She'd seen other wives lose their husbands, some with bodies and others with just gruff descriptions of how it happened. All she felt was a sort of aching sad.

 

Maybe she'd just cried out her devastation in dribs and drabs over the years?

 

'How? Who-'

 

Mrs Thomas waved one bulky, pink floral glove. 'No one told me,' she said. 'But he is, even he's not rotting under a rock somewhere? It's been five years. He's not the man you knew.'

Pris clenched her hands until her nails scored welts in her callused palm. She wanted to slap the old baggage, but if she got kicked out of here...

 

'That's unkind, Mrs Thomas,' she said through tight teeth.

 

Mrs Thomas looked up, watery eyes shrewd. 'Is it? Well, maybe you've not been so kind yourself. That Sean lad is waiting inside for you. Again.'

 

Priscilla huffed impatiently. 'Sean's a friend, that's all.' She touched her neck, checking the rings she wore. 'I'm married.'

 

'Or a widow,' Mrs Thomas said. She waved the knife dismissively at Priscilla. 'Do what you want. Girls like you always do, just think on whether you want a friend and an empty bed, or not.'

 

She back to scoring the heads and Priscilla stamped up the path, kicking the mud off her boots by the door. Inside she kicked off her boots and propped them with the other girls, before heading for the lounge to check on Sean.

 

It wasn't unusual for him to visit. He would bring sweets or a haunch of deer – adding the liver and lights for Mrs Thomas – or mending from the other scouts with a penny per darn rattling in his hands. Today he just had a packed rucksack sitting between his feet.

 

'Sean?' she said. 'What's wrong.'

 

He stood up. 'Matheson said we did well at Elbow Ford and offered half the scouts commissions,' he said. 'I'm going to accept.'

 

'Oh,' Priscilla said. She sat down on one of Mrs Thomas twisty, 'designer', chairs and twisted her hands together. 'When?'

 

He looked down, scuffing at the floor. 'Tomorrow. It's short notice, but it's a better than staying and running drugs up and down the road. People shooting at my head. Anyhow, I just wanted to say goodbye.'

 

Priscilla's chest felt like it was bursting. She had seen Sean every day for the last five years. The thought of going about her day without seeing him...

 

'Don't go,' she begged, annoyed at herself the words left her back.

 

'I have to,' Sean said. 'I'll write. If I can find someone to bring them down.'

 

He hesitated, rubbing a hand over his freshly short hair. 'You could come with me?' he said nervously. 'I know you still love Aaron, but I love you. I wouldn't leave you if I could help it.'

 

Priscilla stared at him so long he took it as a comment. Flushing red he excused himself, apologised, and left. Alone, she buried her head in her hands and tried to think. Her chest ached with grief and hot, slow tears trickled down her face.

 

She'd not cried for Aaron in a long time.

 

Abruptly she leapt to her feet and ran after him.

 

Year 10

 

Front and centre of the crowd – some of whom she counted as friends, others she hardly knew – Sean pulled a tense, apologetic face.

 

'Happy Anniversary,' he said, pulling her into a hug and lifting her up off her feet. Just a little. It still gave her a girlish little thrill as her toes dangled and she felt the flex of his arms. He kissed her ear. 'Sorry. I'd have told you first, but...'

 

He set her down and she clutched at his arms, searching his face with worried eyes. She got a kiss and a squeeze and had to be content with that as everyone else gathered out to congratulate her. Passed from hug to hug, she was starting to relax when she found herself facing General Monroe himself. Apparently, when Sean said his boss...he meant it.

 

'Sir,' she said weakly, voice sticking against the roof of her mouth. Her knees told her she wanted to courtesy, despite that being ridiculous. She accepted the warm, dry clasp of his eyes and smiled as he wished her a happy anniversary.

 

'I hope you will have many more,' he said. 'Don't you?'

 

The thing was she did, but put on the spot her contrary side really wanted to say 'no'. She mumbled something appropriate and looked around for Sean. Tommy found her first, attaching himself to her leg and staring wide-eyed up at Monroe.

 

'Hello,' he said.

 

Pris put her hand on his head. 'Tommy,' she shushed him. 'That's not how you address the President.'

 

'I'm gonna join the militia,' Tommy said, ignoring her.

Monroe waved off her mouthed apology and crouched down, grinning at Tommy. 'You are. So what should I call you? Major Davies?'

 

It was always weird to see the President being good with children. Tommy giggled and shook his head. 'Captain,' he said. 'Like my Dad.'

 

Monroe leant in, inclining his head. 'Ah, but your Dad might not always be a captain.'

 

He straightened up, ruffled Tommy's hair and excused himself with an apology about work. Pris smiled and said they all 'appreciated how hard he worked' and once he was gone went in search of Sean. She found him loitering next to one of the huge windows, smiling and nodding whenever someone drifted over.

 

'What was that about?' Pris asked, squeezing in close to him.

 

Sean hesitated, staring at her face like he'd never seen it before, before taking her hand and leading her into a private room. He closed the door and locked it.

 

'Sean,' Pris said, voice tight. 'You're scaring me.'

 

'Aaron's alive,' Sean said.

 

Her hand fluttered up to her mouth in shock and she stared at him. 'Aaron?' she said, years of guilt lifting her voice into a lilt. 'Are you sure.'

 

Sean grimaced and nodded. 'Yeah,' he said. 'Major Neville spoke to him.'

 

Alive? Pris stumbled to a chair and sat down, not sure where to start. 'Is he alright? Happy?'

 

'He's with Miles. He was one of the terrorists who attacked General Monroe.'

 

'No. He wouldn't do that. Aaron wouldn't hurt anyone, he was broken hearted when he had to fire people.'

 

'People change,' Sean said. 'He...President Monroe wants us to turn him in if he contacts us. I know you won't, that's ok, but you can't take the children with you. It's safer here for them. I'm-'

 

It took a second for what he meant to sink in. When it did Pris stiffened and she bolted to her feet, crossing the room. She slapped Sean across his face – the handsome, stupid face of her husband.

 

'I'm not leaving you,' she said. 'Not for Aaron. I'm glad he's alive, for so long I thought – such horrible things, but I love you.'

 

Sean rubbed his cheek. 'Only because he was gone.'

 

'I love you,' Pris said again, grabbing his face and making him look at her. 'I've loved you for 10 years, I've made a home with you, I've loved our children with you. Idiot. Aaron left me, he's the past. He isn't coming back.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
